oiselessly into the
bank and lay hidden under its shadow. Hanaud turned to his associates
with his finger to his lips. Something gleamed darkly in his hand. It
was the barrel of his revolver. Cautiously the men disembarked and
crept up the bank. First came Lemerre, then Hanaud; Ricardo followed
him, and the fourth man, who had struck the match under the trees,
brought up the rear. The other three officers remained in the boat.

Stooping under the shadow of the side wall of the garden, the invaders
stole towards the house. When a bush rustled or a tree whispered in the
light wind, Ricardo's heart jumped to his throat. Once Lemerre stopped,
as though his ears heard a sound which warned him of danger. Then
cautiously he crept on again. The garden was a ragged place of unmown
lawn and straggling bushes. Behind each one Mr. Ricardo seemed to feel
an enemy. Never had he been in so strait a predicament. He, the
cultured host of Grosvenor Square, was creeping along under a wall with
Continental policemen; he was going to raid a sinister house by the
Lake of Geneva. It was thrilling. Fear and excitement gripped him in
turn and let him go, but always he was sustained by the pride of the
man doing an out-of-the-way thing. "If only my friends could see me
now!" The ancient vanity was loud in his bosom. Poor fellows, they were
upon yachts in the Solent or on grouse-moors in Scotland, or on
golf-links at North Berwick. He alone of them all was tracking
malefactors to their doom by Leman's Lake.

From these agreeable reflections Ricardo was shaken. Lemerre stopped.
The raiders had reached the angle made by the side wall of the garden
and the house. A whisper was exchanged, and the party turned and moved
along the house wall towards the lighted window on the ground floor. As
Lemerre reached it he stooped. Then slowly his forehead and his eyes
rose above the sill and glanced this way and that into the room. Mr.
Ricardo could see his eyes gleaming as the light from the window caught
them. His face rose completely over the sill. He stared into the room
without care or apprehension, and then dropped again out of the reach
of the light. He turned to Hanaud.

"The room is empty," he whispered. Hanaud turned to Ricardo.

"Pass under the sill, or the light from the window will throw your
shadow upon the lawn."

The party came to the back door of the house. Lemerre tried the handle
of the door, and to his surprise it yielded. They crept in